Chamomile
by YFWE
Summary: "Wear that one dress," Nick said.


**As usual, a one-shot to shake off the rust before I get back into some unfinished multi-chapter stuff.**

 **This is part of a loosely related one-shot series that's set in its intended order on Archive of Our Own, if you're interested in reading it and its counterparts chronologically. If not, just know that this occurs after "When You Say Nothing At All" (which is briefly mentioned here, though it's not necessary to have read) and before "We've Got Everything."**

 **That's all! Thank ya for reading.**

 **Chamomile**

 **YFWE**

 _Wear that one dress._

That was it. That was his only request.

Judy Hopps knew exactly which dress he meant, too. And knowing that only confused her even more.

Well, maybe not _confused_ her. Made her anxious? No, barely even that; she never considered herself the type to experience random crop-ups of anxiety – certainly not like some of her brother and sisters back home, the ones who had to take medication for it.

But she could not avoid the fretful feeling that had first visited her that morning, and it had first appeared after that question, the dress entreaty.

First she thought it might have been a lack of sleep. Overnight shifts at the Zootopia Police Department had never been particularly kind to her (were they to anyone for whom they were not a regular occurrence?), but neglecting to get enough sleep in the hours leading into the shift had not helped matters, and the ill effects of fatigue were tugging at her eyelids by the time she pulled her squad car into precinct one's parking lot.

But it also could have been the coffee, she decided afterward. She was not usually the type to practically chug an entire cup, especially the communal brew in the break room her partner openly detested. Judy worried, though, that even though she had no designs on anything other than a few hours of quality time with her bed and pillow after she left the precinct, she might pass out on the subway ride home without some caffeine – hence the quick consumption of the Maxwell Horse brand Benjamin Clawhauser had fired up a few minutes prior for the morning shift folks.

Coffee could be tough on her system, especially _that_ brand, which her parents rarely brought home when she was a kid because, as they claimed, it was more of a blend for larger mammals concerning caffeine intake. A few days earlier, in fact, while waiting for Chief Bogo to arrive in the bullpen for the morning debrief, she and a few other officers had gleefully recalled an old commercial for the coffee in which a squirrel who swore by Café Moustelo unceremoniously switched to Maxwell Horse and paid the price in the form of zany, caffeine-addled mania. An extreme, yes, and it somehow had the opposite effect than intended in terms of the brand's sales, which made it all the more memorable.

A seven-hour nap once she returned home did not help matters as she had hoped, though. She found herself well-rested upon awakening, luckily, a good omen for her shift the next day. Still, that nagging unease lingered.

She decided it was all because of Nick Wilde's demand. Request. Whatever you wanted to call it.

Judy sighed, dragging her groggy body into the bathroom, where she rinsed her toothbrush under the faucet for a solid half-minute before realizing that, by then, it was clean as a whistle; she had lost her train of thought again.

Brushing, reaching for her mouthwash, consuming, spitting – all the while, the rabbit trained her gaze on her reflection, slightly disheveled as it was without a proper grooming before leaving her apartment again.

Sometimes mammals had these epiphanies when staring at themselves in mirrors; that was what happened in books and movies, right? But if that was the case, Judy decided she must have been stupendously bad at it, because glancing at her bleary countenance was doing nothing for her nerves.

"I'll just… get dressed, then," she said aloud to no one in particular. "That'll be fine."

First she had to _find_ the dress. She had brought it home, right? The last time the rabbit could recall donning it was back in Bunnyburrow on a recent trip to her parents' place. She was fairly certain Nick had first laid eyes on it there.

Not that it was not the kind of garment one wore in Zootopia. Judy just did not have too many reasons to wear dresses around town – or at least, she had not in recent memory. Most days were spent in her police uniform or in bed after a shift, wearing pajamas while she lazily watched television or caught up on the latest additions and subtractions to the ZPD's code of conduct. And normally when she was out and about she would assume more casual garb akin to what she wore around the house growing up. Occasionally there was cause for something more formal thanks to a ZPD gala or something of the sort, but those were occasions for cocktail dresses, not this particular outfit. She would be exceedingly underdressed.

Luckily, she had actually unpacked all her clothes from the last trip, and sure enough, there it was, hanging in her diminutive closet that mostly held spare uniforms.

 _This dress_. She could not even remember where she had gotten it. It had been since she moved to Zootopia, but the exact location eluded her. It might have been Gordmoose, or it could have been the clearance sale at Mousy's shortly after the holidays. Judy usually was not the type to remember these things, not like some of her brothers and sisters, who could tell you the exact date and place of most of their articles of clothing.

Chamomile. That was the print on it. It was lavender, mostly, but many of the daisy-like flowers dotted the whole thing, the whites and yellows of the flora sticking out against the clothing's otherwise modest hue.

Her family grew the chamomile plant once. The herb that made the tea that bore its name was once one of their top sellers at the farmer's market in downtown Bunnyburrow, until a rabbit family who specialized solely in teas and medicinal herbs moved to the area and Stu Hopps, ever the gentlemammal, offered to cut back production.

Otherwise, she had little attachment to the flower other than having apparently bought a dress at a store she could not even remember, possibly on sale.

And now, here she was fretting over it anyway.

A few minutes later, she had put it on, having smoothed her fur from her nap and wiped the weariness from her eyes.

She debated earrings but quickly opted against them. This was not a date, after all, right. …right?

The stupid dress. She would not have even considered the possibility without those words – "Wear that one dress." What would have normally been nothing more than a celebratory bite to eat with a friend had suddenly become much more. Maybe. Possibly.

But it might also be nothing more than that: dinner. Dinner to commemorate not one but two exhilarating breaks in long-dormant cases the ZPD had held on file since two and one year before, respectively. Most cops dreamed of making a breakthrough like this just once per year; it was not only a boon to their career but also a near-sure sign that, hey, at least they were unlikely to get fired once performance reviews came up.

Nick and Judy had scored two in the span of the week. First came the breaking up of an Outback Island drug ring that had been passed around multiple precincts over the previous months to little avail, until Nick, against all odds, recognized on surveillance tapes a mammal who had once been in the employ of the Big family but had otherwise been almost completely off the radar, which was the opportunity the ZPD needed to finally follow up on some previous tips and, at last, file some charges. The discovery of a missing zebra who had burned down his family's home in Savanna Central and had not been seen since was icing on the cake, thanks to a deft handling of social media on Judy's part.

It was Nick who brought up dinner first. Two days before, while sitting indolently in their patrol car after finishing up a quick lunch from Bugburga, the fox pitched an evening at Peter Liger to celebrate the pair's recent wins. Nothing too fancy, he said, though they did not take credit cards, so bear that in mind. Just an evening to splurge a bit, get some drinks, reward themselves for doing a halfway decent job. Maybe he would pay for the entire thing if she got him drunk enough.

He would probably pay anyway. Nick had a tendency to do that lately with his newfound salary to many of his friends and colleagues. Perhaps, Judy thought, it was his attempt at penance for cheating mammals out of their own cash over the years.

One phone call later, they had a table for two at 7 p.m., and that would have been the last Judy would have thought about it until she arrived. But then: "Wear that one dress," he said, almost glibly, before they parted that morning after they made specific plans on when to meet up.

Sighing, Judy sat down on her bed, scrolling through her phone absentmindedly before remembering why she had picked it up in the first place: to check the time. She had a little over a hour before dinner, and the subway ride there from her apartment was not too long, but she felt it best to arrive a little early anyway. Better than running into public transportation issues and accidentally getting there late. Some restaurants in the city could get a bit finicky about having one's entire party there right on time.

The next thing she remembered was the sound of an exhalation of hydraulics, followed by the unmistakable groan of a subway train's doors sliding open. Momentarily jarred, Judy hopped out of the way of exiting passengers before she filed on herself, taking a seat at the end of the car, next to the doors in between trains.

 _All right, Judy_ , she thought as she slid into her seat, fixing her gaze outside the window in front of her that showcased the slow-moving landscape of Zootopia through which the train passed (as her area of the city featured an elevated, above-ground train rather than the traditional underground transportation). _You've got this. You've figured it out._

Her assessment: date.

Or, gods, maybe not. Her shift of opinion caused her to nearly smack her head against the back of the blue plastic seat as she grumbled quietly.

This was all because of that barn dance back home; she just knew it. From the moment she made fun of the way the hat she had him wear messed up the fur atop his head, to when they were mostly inseparable all evening (except for when her dad asked for a dance, or when Sharla came steaming out of nowhere when their high school graduation song came on the speakers), to her meager, half-baked declaration during one slow dance that she, in effect, enjoyed Nick's company, that it simply felt right to be there with him.

It was the moment where she realized what was happening. That she might be falling for her best friend and co-worker – and, above all that, a fox.

However, the normally go-getter Judy had not moved on the feeling in the months since. Nick was notoriously impossible to read, and that had not changed even since the barn dance.

Plus, she had already nearly screwed up their friendship once. Judy was not willing to risk that again, especially over something that may have been nothing more than some puppy-love crush that was not – and would not be – reciprocated.

So she pushed it out of her mind. Mostly. And against all odds, the method had worked… until those words. "Wear that one dress."

Stupid dress.

Now she was rethinking everything. Was this a date after all? Did Nick harbor potentially non-platonic feelings toward her that she had neglected to notice all this time? Would this be the night where things changed? And if so, for the better or for the worse?

She had little time to think about it further, because before she knew it, she was there.

* * *

"Kinda a fancy place, huh?"

Judy looked up from the Peter Liger menu, glancing into Nick's eyes and then allowing her gaze to dart around the room as she contemplated his question.

"I mean… it _is_ cash only," she said with a shrug as she considered the low-hung chandeliers, the many photos on the walls of past diners (mostly mayors and city councilmammals, it seemed), the ornate perimeters around the entryways and doors, the linen tablecloth that was draped over a table that seemed to have been constructed in the days when such items were built to last.

Nick rolled his eyes. "Psh," he said, shaking his head definitively. "Lots of places are cash only. Especially takeout places."

"True. But I feel like when it's a sit-down restaurant, that's usually a sign the place is a little fancier."

"Or just behind the times," pointed out the fox, shifting in his seat to get a better look at his surroundings. "But nah, I mean, like, the architecture. It's classic. Has a sense of elegance."

"Never took you to be much of an architecture mammal," said Judy with a smile.

"Eh, I'm not, not really. This place mostly just reminds me of the spots I used to have to go into when I was working for Mr. Big. Y'know, the houses the Rat Pack built. Jerry Vole's haunts and all that."

Cocking her head to the side, Judy said, "Well, if it's too much for you, we can always leave…"

"Oh, no, the prices are actually halfway reasonable, I don't mind." He flashed a toothy grin at the rabbit. "Plus, it's a night of celebration, Carrots! We deserve a night of lavishness among the elite, don't we?"

Judy looked around at the clientele, which mostly consisted of elderly mice and other smaller rodents, plus a few zebras that looked like they had come straight from the financial district of town, thin-cut suits and all.

"OK, maybe not elite," Nick added with a barked laugh. "Heck, we might be the most important mammals in here."

"Oh, please don't get too full of yourself."

"The ZPD's hero cops…"

"Too late, here you go."

"On a winning streak of unheard-of proportions…"

"You're just gonna jinx it."

"First Bellwether, now the biggest drug bust in Outback Island's history…"

"You _really_ want someone to ask you for an autograph, don't you?"

Nick grinned, leaning back in his chair and scanning the room again. "C'mon, there's gotta be a tourist from your neck of the woods strollin' on in here eventually. In fact, I can see it now." He placed his paws in front of his face, framing them as though bordering a newspaper's front page. "'Bunny cop stops evil mayor'" – hey, Chuck, ain't that the rabbit from the papers? Sittin' right next to us at Peter Liger? How did you know she was my favorite smaller mammal cop in the history of the ZPD?"

"Why are the mammals in your stories always named Chuck?"

"And that _fox_ , too. What's the word they used on the TV, svelte? Chuck, if I wasn't married to you, I'll tell ya—"

"Can I start the table off with some drinks?"

The waiter, a wolf with fur as white as snow tucked smoothly into a slender black jacket, was standing over their table, his green eyes passing back and forth between Nick and Judy expectantly.

"Oh! Uh, sorry, hadn't really –" Judy buried her nose back into the menu, "had time to…"

"Could you give us just a teensy little more time, bud?" Nick asked as his paw found his own cocktail menu. "We'll be ready next time. Swear it."

"Of course." The waiter sauntered away without another word, and Judy could already tell Nick's gaze was upon her without having been diverted to his own menu.

"Already know what I want," he confessed when their eyes met again, shaking his head once. "I looked up the menu beforehand."

Judy turned the menu over to the cocktails and drinks side. "Yeah, sorry, I'm a bit indecisive." She glanced at the fox. "What are you getting?"

"Jasmine martini. Wanted something with a flower in it." She watched his green eyes wander toward her dress and felt her muscles clench a bit. "Speaking of flowers…"

She did little to hide her discomfiture. "Yeah, I had it after all," said Judy with a nod, her cheeks suddenly feeling quite warm from something other than the alcohol she was about to consume.

"Yeah, I thought this was the one. What's the flower on it again?" he asked.

"Chamomile," she answered.

"Ah, that's right. Like the tea."

Judy sat up slightly in her chair, realizing she had been sliding down it a bit – whether that was from slight embarrassment due to the topic of the dress finally arising or because the fabric and the wood of the seat simply made it easier to slip around on. "I was sorta surprised you remembered it," she started, "or that you wanted me to wear something specific at all, really."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"I don't know, just a little unlike you to sweat that detail."

He smiled, and for a moment, Judy thought there might have been something earnest on his tongue waiting to slip out. Instead, his eyes darted momentarily to a spot beyond her in the restaurant that she could not see without turning around entirely. "I'll show you after we put in our drink order," he said. "How's that?"

Sure enough, after Nick's jasmine martini request had been paired with Judy's choice of a gold rush, the fox stood and offered her his paw, which she accepted as she slid off the chair and onto the red-carpeted floor.

He led her away from their table, back toward where she had noticed his line of sight wander to earlier. She could not imagine what this meant; did Peter Liger have some sort of breathtaking view of the city accessed by wherever he was taking her, or something? And if so, why would her choice of dress matter? A view was a view.

Or maybe they were going to some secluded area of the place, one Nick already somehow knew about (well, he did know the menu already, did he not? Perhaps having memorized the layout was not out of reason, either), and then he would make his grand declaration, and she hers, and they would kiss, and that would be that.

No, that was not it. He may have been tough to pin down emotionally at times, but Nick would have had no problem with such a thing out in the open, especially amid dozens of diners they had never met and would probably never see again. And Chuck, apparently.

Nick's path led to a hallway that seemed to lead to yet another dining room of the restaurant, with another offshoot of the hallway marked as the route to the restrooms. But between even that was a wall – and for that matter, a wall starkly differently colored than its partner on the opposite side of the hallway. It was a silver-wallpapered wall with swirls of darker gray and tinted white formed into geometrical patterns and occasional swathes of seemingly random brushstrokes. It contrasted with the wall on the opposite side, which bore more of a resemblance with the rest of the establishment: tan or brown tones, sometimes wood entirely, perhaps meant to convey a sense of a cabin- or tavern-like atmosphere.

What surprised Judy was that there were two pairs of mammals already there in front of the wall, a gazelle couple she had not yet seen (perhaps they were in the other dining room) and two mice who had come into the restaurant slightly before she had. In each instance, one was holding a camera or camera-featuring cellphone while the other posed in front of the silvery wallpaper.

Nick clicked his tongue when he saw them. "Yeesh, Yelp wasn't kidding." When he felt Judy's inquisitive gaze upon him, he continued: "So I guess some places have these now, like these walls mammals pose in front of that are aesthetically pleasing for Furbook and social media. I guess this one's a recreation of the décor in this place from before they renovated it, and according to the Internet, they're, uh… a thing? That you do here?"

He turned to her and offered a small grin. "Anyway, when I saw it, I remembered this dress you have and thought, hey, that would probably look good against it, right? The lavender and the flowers, and… well, I know you've been taking a lot of these photos more often for Furbook and all, so—"

"Oh, just hush and take the photo," said Judy with a laugh, one she meant to mask whatever disappointment might have snuck its way into her voice when she realized Nick's intentions about the dress. In a way, she was relieved. Even if a part of her had longed for the declaration-of-love scenario her mind had cooked up just moments before.

As Nick grabbed his phone and fixated its lens upon the rabbit, and as she settled on a pose, a somewhat-to-the-side stance with a come-hither look directed at the camera from over her shoulder, she heard the fox chuckle.

"What's so funny?" she asked with a hint of snark, struggling nonetheless to hold the pose.

"That look you're giving, I've just never seen you do it before. Delightfully over-the-top, Fluff. 100 likes are coming your way."

She warded off a laugh so as to retain the look.

"For the record, I love your eyes against this thing, too," he said. "Pretty."

 _Snap_.

* * *

"I never knew sliced tomatoes could be so good."

"You didn't grow up on a farm, then."

"Nah, I didn't, but I bet these were still better than your family's."

"I'd take offense to that if it weren't true."

Judy had slid a bit down her chair again, but this time she did not care. It was simply the most comfortable way to sit after the meal she and Nick had just consumed. After their initial cocktails (which were complemented by many more throughout the evening), a shared appetizer course during which Nick proceeded to order over half of what was offered, and then entrees that were probably ill-advised to eat given the status of their stomachs already but were devoured anyway, the pair had just turned down dessert and were awaiting the check, all the while wondering both whether they would need to eat again and whether or not they could _afford_ to ever again after the sheer breadth of their order.

When the check did arrive, as expected, Nick would not let her see it.

"C'mon, Nick—"

"Nope."

"This is for both of us…"

"Yep."

"So we should split equally."

"Nope."

"You need to stop making decisions like this when you've been drinking," said Judy, half-pouting.

"Why? Also, I'm not drunk."

"Because you'll regret it in the morning."

"Nah." He took his eyes off the bill for a moment and smiled at her. "Can't say I'm gonna be regretting this night."

Judy was unable to hide a smirk. "You say that now."

"And I'll say it tomorrow, too. Plus, it's not that much, actually," he said, fishing his wallet from his pocket.

"I find that hard to believe."

He flashed the receipt at her once – very quickly, just enough to allow her to see the bottom line but not long enough to snatch it from his paw.

"Wait, how—"

"I know a guy," Nick said with a shrug. Sensing Judy was not satisfied with the explanation, he continued: "A guy who might have grown up down the street from me and might now be this place's sous chef, focusing particularly on appetizers."

"Gee, I wondered why your bathroom break took so long," she said, rolling her eyes, though she was nonetheless impressed.

"Ya caught me. Now, Carrots, shall we?" He stood from the table, having counted out a few bills and coins onto the table, again offering his paw. "I'm sure you're dying to get home to see how many likes your picture got, and anyway, I wanna get outta here before the paparazzi figures out where we are."

"Oh, I'm sure they're right outside, just waiting to hear our glowing review of the place."

"Or our romantic status. I've read the blogs."

That earned him a punch in the side.

"Ow! I guess that answers that for them."

"Oh, stop it," she said, even though she wished he would not.

They stepped outside into the chill of the evening, past the valet and to the street corner. The elevated subway train rumbled above them; Judy would be getting on it soon, or at least the next train to pass. She was not sure what Nick's plans were.

"Well," he announced after a beat, "I'm about ready to fall into a food coma. How about you, Hopps?"

Judy nodded. "I was worried having just woken up a few hours ago would make it tough to fall asleep anytime soon. But I could go for a nap." The thought of it made her want to yawn instinctively.

"All right, all right. Maybe we can meet for coffee tomorrow, then."

"You really wanna see me on your day off?" asked the rabbit, a paw on her hip. "Uncharacteristic of you."

"Finnick's out of town, and anyway, I wanna get your honest review of this place," he jerked his head back toward the restaurant, "the day after. When you're not basking in its glow. Literally."

She smiled, crossing her arms after a glance toward the well-lit Peter Liger sign above them. "I could do 11," she offered. "You pick the place."

"I'll think about it on the walk home," Nick said. "Then I'll have my mammals call your mammals and we'll figure something out."

"You're walking?" asked Judy, cocking her head a bit.

"It's like a 20-minute walk, Fluff. And it's a nice night out."

He opened his arms wide, his paws beckoning her toward him. "Goodnight hug," he added, as though his intentions were not already obvious. "C'mon."

She relented, wrapping her arms as far around his body as she could manage. She felt his paws rest gently against her back, one against the fabric of her dress and the other where her fur was exposed nearer her neck – something he had probably never been able to do before, not with what she normally wore. Grinning, she nuzzled her head further into his waist, turning her head to the side and flattening her ears against her back, just over his paws.

"G'night, Carrots," he said, giving her a quick squeeze.

"Night, Nick," she offered back.

She should have expected the kiss atop her head, but it surprised her anyway, the light peck against her fur that somehow felt electrified despite its evanescence.

He had unwrapped his arms from around her and had started down the street away from her subway stop before she could react; she watched his frame disappear into the night, his green jacket the last thing she laid eyes on before he rounded a corner. He might have glanced at her briefly as he did so, but he was too far away to know for sure.

Judy turned, looking both ways before crossing the street to the entrance to her subway stop; she could hear the most recent train leaving the station, meaning she would probably have to wait a few minutes before the next one; the mammals funneling down the steps past her solidified that. But she could not bring herself to care.

 _Stupid dress_ , she thought with a smile.

 **END**

 **Peter Liger is a reference to Peter Luger Steak House in New York City, but that's not to say it's a specific stand-in for Peter Luger itself; Peter Liger is not meant to be a steakhouse, for instance (imagine that in Zootopia, lol), and its interior isn't exactly the same as the real thing. Pretty sure Peter Luger doesn't have an Instagram wall, either.**

 **As usual, hope this didn't suck! Thanks very much for reading.**


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